From good to great: Donald Maass' 'The Emotional Craft of Fiction'

In his masterful book "On Writing," Stephen King says that "while it is impossible to make a competent writer out of a bad writer, and while it is equally impossible to make a great writer out of a good one, it is possible, with lots of hard work, dedication, and timely help, to make a good writer out of a merely competent one."

Most writing books, including King's, are geared toward just that: turning competent writers into good ones.

But Donald Maass, in "The Emotional Craft of Fiction," aims to do what King deemed impossible: take good writers and make them great.

It's easy to see why King considers the task so unlikely. When reading the true masters, it can sometimes seem like what separates good from great is a matter of wizardry, of metaphysics, like what separates men from gods.

The miracle of Maass' book is that he succeeds in deconstructing greatness in a way that makes it accessible to us mere mortals.

What he reveals is that great writing is not about the order of the words on the page, although strong craft certainly helps. Instead, great writing is about the experience it stirs in readers--the feelings it provokes.

"Classics have enduring appeal mostly because we remember the experience we had while reading them," Maass explains. "We remember not the art but the impact."

Maass, who runs one of the most successful literary agencies in New York, offers specific techniques for "creating a powerful emotional experience for readers as they read." These include the use of subtext, digging beyond a character's obvious emotions, playing against expected feelings, and allowing characters to "get real."

I can't recommend this book highly enough for anyone looking to take their writing from good to great -- something Maass proves is not only possible, but a rewarding emotional journey in and of itself.

Hat tip to K.M. Weiland's "Helping Writers Become Authors" podcast, which is where I first heard of Maass' book.

The best paragraph (p. 205):

It is time for all novelists to own the mandate, get beyond their fears, and write with force. What is holding them back? What is holding you back? The ultimate in emotional craft is nothing more than trusting your own feelings. Having faith. Confidence. I don’t mean just the faith that you will be published. I don’t mean only the confidence that you can master the craft. No, I mean faith in your mandate as a storyteller and your fearless surrender to the heroes and monsters inside you.

William Goldman's 'Adventures in the Screen Trade'

As someone who writes fiction as a hobby and dreams of doing it professionally, I enjoy reading authors discuss their process and craft.

William Goldman's "Adventures in the Screen Trade" was no exception, an ultimately fun read loaded with practical advice, narcissistic drivel, and everything in between.

Goldman, who died last November at age 87, offers a cynical, blunt book that's half-memoir and half-instruction manual for those interested in Hollywood screenwriting. His memoir/manual format, first published in 1989, would later be perfected by Steven King in his brilliant guide for aspiring novelists, "On Writing."

Near the beginning of his book, Goldman lets us in on a depressing secret with his infamous line, "Nobody knows anything." What he means is nobody knows which screenplays will become hits -- and that in the face of this void, studio executives create myths designed to preserve their sanity.

In one illuminating anecdote, a studio executive tells Goldman that 1981's On Golden Pond was a smash hit "because it's got Jane Fonda in it" (p. 51). Goldman points out (to the reader, not to the executive) that Fonda starred in another film that year, Rollover, and it was a total bomb.

"So why did the studio guy say Fonda made On Golden Pond?" Goldman asks. "Because he was desperate to come up with something, anything, that wouldn't shake the foundations of what he knew to be true -- what kind of film to make."

What this studio executive knew to be true was that a mature family dramedy aimed at middle-aged audiences just wouldn't do much business at the box office -- and that viewers were flocking to it not for the brilliant storytelling, but because it was anchored by a major star (not to mention her father, Henry Fonda, alongside Katharine Hepburn). The problem, Goldman explains, is that acknowledging the success of a film like On Golden Pond on its merits would "mean a total opening up of what constitutes a commercial film. And that's scary -- so much more comforting to make Death Wish XXIII" (p. 51).

Overall, I found Goldman's advice on the writing process to be direct and mostly useful -- and applicable to all writing, not just screenwriting. I was interested in some of the book's many gossipy anecdotes, the ones that still hold up more than three decades later; the others I just skimmed.

One section that was particularly interesting -- and distressing -- was Goldman's lament that Hollywood studios were increasingly only greenlighting what he calls "comic-book movies." He uses the term "comic-book movies" metaphorically -- movies that adhere to certain rules, including these two (p. 153):

(1) Generally, only bad guys die. And if a good guy does kick, he does it heroically.

(2) There tends to be a lack of resonance: Like the popcorn you're munching, it's not meant to last. 

What would Goldman think now, when his analysis is no longer metaphorical, when Hollywood literally only greenlights comic-book movies?

I chose the following as the best paragraph because, first, it's great and, second, it has particular resonance with me as a just-starting-out novelist engaged in the search for an agent (p. 85):

Agents are the Catch-22 of the movie business: Everybody starting out desperately needs one and nobody starting out can possibly get one.